But Mace was gone. He’d broken up with me a year before.
Now it was just me. As always.
My second thought was to shove thoughts of Mace aside.
My third thought was to find my jeans.
I yanked off my nightgown and tugged on a pair of old Levi’s and my bra. I grabbed a capped-sleeved white blouse with red stitching at the top and dangling tassels that you would expect a girl named Heidi to wear while yodeling in the mountains of Germany.
Just for your information, I loved that effing top.
Also, for your information, I had no idea how to yodel and didn’t want to know how.
I sat on the bed and pul ed on my brown cowboy boots, dusty not from riding the range but from standing on dirty stages in dark bars.
Then I grabbed my keys, shoved my cel phone in my back pocket and snatched Juno’s leash off a hook by the door.
“Let’s go, Juno,” I cal ed, slapping my hand against my thigh.
Juno thumped over to me, not with great excitement, wagging tail and lol ing tongue, ready for adventure. Instead Juno was resigned to her fate which consisted of yet another interruption to her beauty sleep of which she needed a lot.
“Buzz thinks Linnie’s overdosed. Probably just passed out,” I told Juno as we headed out of my room and into the hal . “We’l be back home soon.”
* * * * *
I drove my old, beat-up, dirty, fading red Ford van by Buzz’s place but no one was home. That meant they were at Lindsey’s. By the time I got there so had the ambulance and the police. Lights flashing, the front yard of Lindsey’s broken down house not just holding straggling tufts of grass, weeds and patches of dirt but also uniformed police officers and pajama’ed neighbors.
Worse, parked on a street was a shiny black Ford Explorer.
I knew what that meant.
One of the Nightingale Boys was there.
“What the ef?” I whispered, a chil sliding over my skin (for several reasons). I parked in front of the squad car that was parked in front of the Explorer.
The Nightingale Boys were famous in certain circles of Denver – the circles occupied by cops, felons and others in need of their unique services. They were on the Nightingale Private Investigations Team, al of them highly qualified, intensely skil ed, moral y dubious but total y super cool.
Mace was one of them.
I clipped the leash on Juno and swung out my door, Juno fol owing me on a huge, big dog sigh.
Please don’t let Mace be here, please don’t let Mace be here, my brain chanted.
Then I switched topics.
Please let Linnie be okay, please let Linnie be okay.
I rounded the back of my van, the door to Lindsey’s house opened and Luke Stark, Hot Guy and Nightingale Man, walked out. Black, super short hair, kil er, trimmed mustache that ran down the sides of his mouth, mouth-watering handsome and body designed by the gods.
I knew Luke; I’d met him when I dated Mace. I knew him now because he was living with my friend, Ava Barlow.
His eyes scanned the yard and stal ed on me.
Okay, cool. No worries. Al was wel . I could deal with Luke. Luke was good. Luke was great.
I smiled at Luke.
The door opened again and Mace walked out.